


More every year I shine light on edges I tried to unfeel

by Alene



Series: Climbing & Falling [2]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Even's POV, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Slice of Life, Vague mentions of sex, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 14:50:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15173048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alene/pseuds/Alene
Summary: June rain gives way to a June heatwave gives way to a June storm.Isak and Even have been together for two months. Even feels a lot of things.A tiny slice of life set in the same verse as All the climbing, all the falling. Makes probably more sense if you’ve read that one first.





	More every year I shine light on edges I tried to unfeel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vesperthine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesperthine/gifts).



> This one is for Vesperthine. Happy birthday baby!! You’re lovely and wonderful and also the reason why I started writing for this fandom. I hope your day will be everything you wish for <3

It was only two days ago the persistent June rain had given way to a slightly more uncommon June heat.

It’s sweaty and humid in the way it never really has been in the Eastern parts of Norway where Even has spent all the other summers in his life.

(Except, you know, that one summer when he was nine and his mom and dad were getting a divorce and yelling at each other a lot and he was sent to this cabin at Lake Constance with his cousins and everyone spoke German and his cousins’ great grandma never understood what he tried to say. But he doesn’t think it was this humid there either. He swam a lot that summer and wrote his first film script, about a couple who decides they’re not going to divorce after all. He’s never shown that script to anyone.)

Here, the heat has set over the city like a thick cloud hanging low between the mountains and it sticks to the skin, never eases up, not even at night.

He had to up his dosage a few weeks ago and it isn’t helping, exactly. It makes him feel like someone turned him inside out and left his intestines out to dry in the sun. He’s dizzy. He’s thirsty. He’s fucking overheated all the time. But at least the meds seem to be helping. Maybe. It’s like the urgency he’s felt in his very bones lately has abated a little, now.

Or it could be wishful thinking. He can’t help but feel that sliver of hope every time his body settles into a new, slightly different amount of chemicals in his bloodstream. That maybe _this_ is the last time, that maybe _this_ is the dosage that will get him through the rest of his life.

At least he isn’t at the point where they have to throw Haldol and Orfiril in the mix. That has happened twice.

The first time:

He was actually manic for the first time in his life, then. At least officially, because he’s pretty sure he had some smaller episodes before that. He just didn’t recognize the signs, hadn’t even heard the word manic ever before. Hadn’t seen dozens of mental health professionals look at him with that same mix of sympathy and pity every time. Every. Fucking. Time.     

But back then, at eighteen, high on kissing Mikael and low low low on his rejection it had turned into a mixed episode. And not even weeks on Lithionit and locked in a hospital, not even weeks of seeing his mother’s red-rimmed eyes could make him come back down. Not until they’d given him everything they could think of. After that he of course came down and crashed harder than ever. Swollen, itchy and achy of all the meds, and more than ready to die.  

The second time was the summer after finally graduating high school. He mostly doesn’t think about that summer, like ever.     

It wasn’t because of anything in particular this time, the dosage change. Just a decision he made together with his psychiatrist, more like something preemptive that needed to be done. Because he’s been at the brink of, well _something_ , for a while now. Felt that it’s just within reach. That feeling when you realise you can fly and you know that you’re going to, too. That all you need is to take off. That’s where he’s been ever since Isak became his.

_His._

It’s still strange to think about. Isak. The one who got away, and then didn’t. Isak with his stupidly fancy summer job at the hospital and his beautiful strong hands and his beautiful soft curls and even softer heart. Isak who has known darkness himself but still hasn’t been nothing but the haziest and softest light and love in Even’s life.

This time around.

 

***

 

He’s waiting for Isak outside the hospital lab.

It’s Tuesday, his day off from Espresso House. Isak, on the other hand, is working from Monday to Friday and eight to four like a normal adult with decent, useful education. (Unless he has to be on call in case of urgent samples. But apparently that’s going to be like only one week during the whole summer.)

Even got here ten minutes early. He’s taken out his sketchbook and tries to fix the shading in the drawing he’s been working on the whole day. Woman on the left looks nothing like he sees her in his head.

“Who are they?” says Isak’s voice right behind his ear.

It makes Even flinch. He didn’t expect Isak to be here yet, but a quick glance to his phone tells that it’s two minutes past four already.

He looks at the couple in the picture. A man and a woman sitting at a table, two pints of beer in front of them. The woman is staring at her lap, the man looking away from her. He tried to make them look middle-aged, maybe a bit older, but isn’t sure he actually succeeded. He hasn’t figured out how to draw lines, _wrinkles_ , on faces without making it look too exaggerated. Has spent too many years drawing people who are young, beautiful, and tragic. These two are only tragic.

“Oh,” he says a little belatedly. “I saw them yesterday while I was walking home from work. Through a pub window.”

“They look sad,” Isak says, simply.

He touches Even’s shoulder lightly, almost like testing out if that particular sadness is something that belongs to Even too.  

“Yeah, I think their dog died,” Even says.

Isak looks at him for a few seconds, like he isn’t sure if what he said is actually true or if it’s something Even made up based on a split-second glimpse through a pub window on a way-too-hot monday evening. Then his face lightens up with recognition, an almost-smile taking over. Then sadness. Then something wistful. Then a smile, again.

“Huh,” he says. “ _Now_ I know who they are. They had that small white dog who was obsessed with you.”

Even smiles back.

 

***

 

They walk slowly. Isak is walking his bike. Even still hasn’t bought one or brought the one he has in his dad’s garage in Oslo here. Although Isak keeps telling him that he really should.

It’s just.

You get less wet when you’re walking upright than when you’re riding a bike in heavy rain, right?

He can practically hear Isak’s voice in his head, saying that you also spend a shorter time in the rain because biking is so much quicker. But there’s no need to rehash that conversation now. Because the sun is shining and Isak isn’t actually complaining about walking this time.

“So, what’s the plan?” Isak asks, looking at Even through his lashes. His smile is tiny and lopsided but he looks so, so delighted, eyes almost sparkling with it. They’re the same exact shade of green as his t-shirt, the one Even had quite impulsively bought him at H&M last weekend.

It makes Even’s stomach jump.

It’s a date night.

The first of many, Even hopes. Because while they’ve been together for eight weeks and five days now, they haven’t actually been on a date before this. They’ve been out with Isak’s friends, of course, and they’ve even hung out with some people from Even’s study programme once. And they’ve spent countless hours in Even’s narrow bed in Løbergsveien. Sometimes in Isak’s narrow bed too, just for a change.

But this is the first time they’re going out together, as a couple, just the two of them.     

Even’s been planning for days.

“You’ll see,” he says and grins.

Isak rolls his eyes, in that fond and lovely way of his. He had probably expected that answer.  

Even takes a step to the side, partly to avoid getting run over by a car and partly to get closer to Isak. He bumps his hip to Isak’s and wraps his hand around Isak’s waist, can’t resist nuzzling his neck just a little.

It’s obvious that Isak didn’t have time to shave this morning. His stubble scratches the tip of Even’s nose when he’s trying to inhale as much of Isak’s scent as he can. But Even doesn’t mind.

(He kind of likes it.)

He feels lighter than he did just half an hour ago. Isak always has that effect on him. He makes his doubts and fears feel somehow smaller, further away. Like, they never disappear completely but stay neatly in the back of his mind. All of a sudden there’s more room for him to breathe. To just be.

He’s never quite felt like this with anyone else. It was true when he was 19, and it’s true now.

 

***

 

It happens when they’re crossing Vetrlidsallmenningen. He’s been so focused on Isak babbling away on PCR— _polymerase chain reaction, Even_ —and calibrating lab equipment and other shit Even doesn’t understand but tries to follow anyway, that he has missed the dark clouds gathering above.    

The wind picks up, the sea swells and tosses boats around in the harbour. They crash into each other with a loud clang after a loud clang. There are people yelling at each other, trying to tie up their boats tighter. It’s impossible to tell what they’re saying through the howling wind. A lonely plastic bag travels uphill in the wind. A lightning hits one of the trees right next to the entrance to Fløibanen. The crack that comes right after is from the lightning, but the sound of a treetop hitting the ground follows seamlessly, almost like it belongs to the same, needlessly prolonged note.

When the sky opens up, it’s like someone has turned on a high pressure shower head right above them.

Isak takes Even’s hand and starts to run.

It takes Even a split-second to make his brain and legs to cooperate, and in that split-second there is a very serious possibility of Isak tearing his whole arm off.

Isak is saying something while they run, apologizing, Even thinks. It’s impossible to hear him through the pouring rain, through the heartbeat loudly and insistently hammering in Even’s ears. He may be the more experienced one when it comes to hiking, but it seems that Isak runs really fucking fast.

(And has nearly inhumane upper body strength.)    

It takes them maybe 20 seconds to get to the door of Bar Kollektiv and that’s about 20 seconds too long in this weather.

Isak opens the door and tugs Even inside with him. They stumble a little, and the guy manning the bar raises his eyebrow, looking mildly amused as they try to adjust their soggy clothes.

Isak’s green t-shirt is soaked through, clinging to every part of him, and his hair is a big, wet, ridiculous clump on top of his head, rainwater dripping and running in rivulets down his forehead, in-between his eyes and down the side of his nose.

He looks at Even and tries to wipe his face with the back of his hand. It doesn’t help at all, everything is just as wet as before.

“We’re eating here, yeah?” Isak says, just as another lightning hits close, the sound of it startling them both.

Even pouts. “It’s not what I planned.”

Isak turns to look out of the window. It’s barely five o’clock in the afternoon, but it’s dark, almost pitch black in-the-middle-of-night dark. And it isn’t raining any less than a minute ago, water pelting down fast and hard, streets turning into rivers.

“I’m not going back out there,” Isak decides.

Even pouts some more. It’s not like he actually disagrees with Isak here, but still, he’s a little sad that things didn’t go according to his plan.

Isak’s eyes soften and he puts his hands on Even’s hips, pulling him closer. It’s almost uncomfortable, with the way Isak’s fingers dig into his skin through the wet fabric of his shorts, and he kind of wishes his carefully planned date would’ve involved a little more of netflix & chill and a little less of checking out that sushi place his coworker keeps recommending.        

Isak nuzzles his nose.

“We’ll have our amazing date some other day,” he murmurs, his voice low.

“Okay,” Even says.

 

***

 

They take a quick tour to the bathroom and try to dry themselves off as much as they can with a bunch of paper towels.

Even fishes the phone and a pack of cigarettes from his utterly wet pockets. There are small droplets of water on the touch screen, but after he has carefully wiped the phone dry it seems to be working all right. Thankfully.

He wasn’t quite as lucky with the cigarettes, though. The pack is absolutely drenched. He shows it to Isak who’s staring himself at the mirror, focused on trying to make his hair more presentable.  

“Oi!” Isak says as he sees the sad state of Even’s cigarettes. “Was it a full packet, or?”

Even looks mournfully from Isak to the thoroughly sodden pack. It’s not like he has that much disposable income, not like Isak does these days. He has to stand almost an hour on his feet making coffee drinks to cranky people just to afford one pack.  

“I bought it this morning,” he replies. “And I’ve had only like two cigs since then.”

Isak winces exaggeratedly and rubs Even’s back.

“Poor you,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll live, though.”

Yeah, Isak’s not a huge fan of him smoking.

To be honest, Even’s just glad that his phone works and that the sketchbook and everything else was in his waterproof backpack.

So, yeah. He’ll live.

 

***

 

There aren’t that many people in the bar.

It makes sense, Even thinks. With the heatwave they’ve had the last couple of days most Bergeners have opted for pubs and cafés that have actual serving areas outside in the sun. And now, the storm rampaging over the city, they’ve taken shelter wherever they could, just like he and Isak did.

They order burgers each—bacon & cheese for Isak, spicy for Even—and find a table for two in a quiet corner, next to windows. It seems Isak’s bike is still where they left it, on the sidewalk, unlocked. They agree that no one is going to steal it in this weather. There are literally no people outside.    

The waiter brings them two beers and a carafe of water, effectively reminding Even that he hasn’t drunk anything for a while.

It could just be that he’s imagining it, but his mouth feels really, really dry at once. He grabs the carafe and tries to pour some water into a glass, but halfway through the tilting motion his hands start to shake really bad. He turns the carafe quickly upright, but some of the water still sloshes over, ending up everywhere else except into the actual fucking glass.

He puts the carafe down and glances at his hands that keep shaking.

_Fucking Lithionit._

Even feels a wave of shame hit him and wants to sit on his hands to make them stop. He can’t look up and at Isak, so he looks at anywhere, everywhere else but at him.

He can’t quite figure out why this feels like such a failure, it’s not the first time Isak sees him like this. It won’t be the last one either. And that may be the problem, actually.  

Isak deserves someone who can actually perform a simple task of pouring a glass of water. Someone who isn’t dependent on medical science and other people’s kindness for every single moment of their life.

“Here,” Isak says, and fills Even’s glass.

Just like that.

Even downs it in one go. He’s still not looking at Isak, but Isak just fills the glass again, wordlessly.

“You know,” Isak says then, taking a sip of his own beer. “This is where I saw you for the first time.”

Even’s head snaps up and he stares at Isak.

“I saw you the first day of school,” he admits.

“You mean at Nissen?” Isak asks, the corner of his mouth twitching a little, like he’s pleased to hear that.

“No,” Even explains. “—or I mean yes, that too. But here in Bergen.”

Isak’s eyebrows raise at that. “You did?” he wonders, sounding a little breathless.

“Mh-mmm,” Even admits. “I was on a campus tour of sorts, for all the new Master students who hadn’t taken their Bachelor here. You were riding your bike across Høyden, really fast. But I recognized you right away.”

“Wow,” Isak says, quietly. He’s staring at his own hands.  

Then, a little more audibly: “I didn’t see you before October, actually. And it was here.”

The way a smile flits across Isak’s face makes him so beautiful that Even feels the corners of his own mouth lift up, too.

The thing about Isak is, that he’s really good at distracting Even when he’s about to drown in the depths of his own mind. He’s really good at finding something else to talk about. And it never feels like he’s dismissing Even’s feelings or pitying him. He never looks disappointed, like Sonja did. He never walks away, which is what Anders used to do.

The thing about Isak is, that he’s a good boyfriend, a great boyfriend.

He slipped into that role so seamlessly that sometimes it feels like something he has done his whole life, that he’s always been caring for and loving another person.

But the truth is that he really hasn’t. He’s—according to his own words—dated sporadically, hooked up here and there. He’s been on his own so long.  

And yet, he is so giving. He lets Even fill the previously uninhabited corners of his life with ease. He’s attentive. He’s determined to make this work, whereas Even always, _always_ wants to retreat and hide at the first sign of conflict.

Even has had two long-term relationships before Isak. Sonja for four years, then Anders for two and half. And truth be told, he would still keep making the same mistakes he made with them, if Isak would let him.

Isak doesn’t.  

 

***

 

“I can’t believe you recognized me just like that, though,” Isak says after their burgers have arrived.

“You can’t?” Even asks. “Didn’t you recognize me in the midst of a busy dance floor yourself?”

“No, or yeah,” Isak says and motions with his hand that he’s going to finish chewing the bite in his mouth before he continues.

“It’s just that—,” he starts, and then stops to clear his throat. “I guess I assumed that you wouldn’t remember me that well?”

“Well, clearly we both remembered each other,” Even grins.

“Guess we did.”

Isak is looking at his hands again, a small smile deepening his dimples. There is even a hint of blush on his cheeks.

It’s incredible how shy he can look sometimes, still. At times it’s difficult to grasp that this is the same guy who fucks Even into the mattress on the regular.

(Not that he’s really going to think about _that_ here and now.)

Even stretches his hand over the table and clasps Isak’s in his. Isak looks up and grins.

“Thanks,” he says.

“What for?”

“For remembering me.”

Even lets out a laugh. “No problem, babe.”

This discussion, the look on Isak’s face, everything is making Even’s insides hurt with something good and warm, making him smile so wide it’s almost impossible to take a bite of his burger. But somehow he manages and his smile turns into a moan of appreciation.

“Good?” Isak asks.

“Very. Want a bite?” Even offers, holding out his burger to Isak.

“What’s in it?”

“Hang on,” Even says and wipes his mouth with a napkin. He stares at the burger, like physically looking at it would reveal him everything that’s in it. “Salsa, I think. And avocado. Oh, and aioli.”

Isak makes a face.

“I’ll pass,” he says. “And see if I’m going to kiss you tonight.”

He’s joking, mostly, but in the past two months Even has learned that Isak’s not the biggest fan of avocados.

(Because they don’t _even taste like_ _anything, Even._ )

“Oh but you will, though,” says Even, raising one eyebrow. “We both know that you can’t, like physically, fall asleep without kissing me goodnight first.”

Isak’s laugh is the best sound in the world.

 

***

 

The storm ends quite like it began: abruptly and without a warning. The rain slows down, then stills, and the sky clears up. The sun reflects on the wet asphalt, on the tiny streams still trickling down the street. The air has cooled down, and after two days of stifling heat it feels soothing on the skin, in the lungs, everywhere.

Isak picks up his bike from the sidewalk outside the bar, and they wander slowly down the street, full and content after their meal.

Even points to a kiosk in the street corner between the fish market and Bryggen. “I’ll just—,” he begins, and Isak just nods.

They change course and cross the street.

Even finds his wallet after a moment of inner panic and some rummaging around in his backpack. He has to bend down a little to look at the kiosk worker, a young girl, in the eye while he asks for a pack of Marlboro Light.   Isak waits a little further away, scrolling through something on his phone.

Even has to light a cigarette right away.

Most days he tells himself that he’s not addicted. It’s just a habit. A habit he’s become kind of attached to.

He takes a moment to draw the first puff of smoke in, closing his eyes when it hits his lungs and a sense of calm fills him from inwards.

Isak looks up from his phone as he notices that Even is approaching. “Happy now?” he asks grinning, holding his free hand out for Even to take.

“I am,” says Even.  

 

***

 

Getting rid of damp, uncomfortable clothes and stepping under the hot shower feels pretty amazing after everything. Even’s bathroom is ridiculously cramped, so he and Isak have never actually tried to do anything there. Not in Isak’s either. Mostly because he shares it with three other people.

Isak went to his own room as soon as they got back to Løbergsveien, with the promise to come upstairs as soon as he’s ready for bed.

Even takes his time under the spray and tries to count his exhales like his therapist has suggested. Numbers become disjointed in his head, and he keeps messing up because his brain thinks it would be more natural to count the inhales. He gets up to seven once but then his thoughts stray to Isak. To that one morning he woke up and found Isak sitting at the kitchen table, scrunching his nose while he was concentrating on one of his difficult, complicated books. He remembers it was sunny that day, that the sun was already high up. The light was just right. It was so soft. The kind of light he’d love to recreate in a movie. If he closes his eyes, he can still see it.

He sighs and picks up the shampoo, trying not to bang his elbows or other body parts to the walls of the tiny shower cubicle as he turns around under the spray. He doesn’t succeed.

Isak is already sitting on the bed and working on something on his laptop when Even comes out. He looks up as he hears the bathroom door open and close, his face lighting up. Almost like they haven’t seen each other forever. Even never gets tired of that. He’s never going to get tired of the way Isak looks at him, the way Isak talks to him. The way Isak just _is._

Never.

“Come here, baby,” Isak says, putting the laptop away and patting the bed next to him.

Even climbs on the bed and crawls a little closer to reach better because it’s obvious that Isak is expecting a kiss. A soft touch of lips turns into a series of small pecks when Isak grabs the back of Even’s head and doesn’t let him to pull back. It makes Even laugh and soon they’re both giggling into each other’s mouths.

“You’re ridiculous,” Isak says.

Even points at himself, faux-indignant.

“Me? Seriously? You’re the one who is ridiculous here.”

Isak nuzzles the side of Even’s face, of his neck, the space between the clavicle and scapula where Even’s muscles always get tightest when he feels uncomfortable.

“We’re both equally ridiculous,” Isak whispers, mouthing the soft skin on Even’s shoulder.

“I know,” Even whispers back. “Let’s go to bed.”

 

***

 

Even’s bed really is narrow and uncomfortable when there are two grown men trying to sleep in it. It was worse the night before when it was so hot that the feeling of Isak’s sweaty, naked skin against his own made Even dream of booking the next plane to Svalbard and never coming back. There are times when the sweaty skin-on-skin action is pretty nice and even pleasurable, but this was not one of those times.

It’s not much better tonight, although the weather has cooled down. Even can hear Isak’s breathing, steady but too quick for him to be asleep. His body almost vibrating next to him, like he’s doing everything in his might to stop himself from tossing and turning.

“Isak?” Even whispers.

“Mh-mmm?” comes the somewhat muffled answer.

“I think we need a bigger bed,” Even says.

“Yes we do,” Isak says and sits up, looking at Even in the dim light of the room.

There is a stripe of faint light coming between the curtains, the kind of light you get only this time of year when the sun sets only for a few hours at night.

“We could carry my bed upstairs,” Isak suggests after a while.

“I don’t know,” Even says, rubbing his eyes and yawning before continuing. “I don’t think it would work. Those hard, wooden edges would still be in the middle.”

“No, you’re right.”

“Like, I would probably wake up every morning on top of that hard part because I always want to be close to you.”

“Awww, baby,” Isak coos, running his hand through Even’s hair and down the side of his arm.

“I think,” Even starts, but then hesitates. “Or, I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“Nothing.”

“Even,” Isak says, settling back down on the bed so that his eyes are at the same level as Even’s. “What are you thinking. Tell me.”

“I honestly don’t know, it was just—,” says Even and looks down between their bodies. It was just a thought, he thinks but doesn’t say.  

“Okay.”

Isak waits it out. He just lies there and waits it out. His eyes are dark in the low light of the room. There is something insistent in them.

He’s always so patient with Even.

In the end they start talking at same time.

“It was just a—” says Even.

“I mean, I think—,” says Isak.

“Weshouldmoveintogether,” says Even, his words a jumbled mess just like his insides.

He hopes that Isak understood. He also hopes that he didn’t. He hopes he could go back in time and say it differently. Maybe explain, reason it better.  

Isak caresses his cheek, arranges the duvet better on top of them. He looks serious.

“I don’t think it’s too soon, if that’s what you think,” he says then.

Even can feel the smile that gradually takes over his own face. He tries to contain it, don’t want to look too stupid, too giddy. But there is nothing he can do. He smiles, and Isak smiles and they just smile, smile, smile.

Two giddy idiots. That’s what they are.

“Okay,” he says after what feels like forever. Once he’s gained the control his own face muscles again.

“We can start looking for apartments tomorrow,” Isak decides.

“Okay,” Even says, again.

That night he dreams that he’s climbing stairs. Stairs after stairs after stairs. Every time he thinks he’s getting where he’s supposed to be, a new set of stairs appears. When he finally, finally sees a door on top of the staircase, it’s out of focus and he can’t tell what the nameplate says. When he wakes up, he thinks it was their names.

Valtersen. Bech Næsheim.

He’s going to move in together with Isak.

**Author's Note:**

> Oda is probably going to make a joke about nice lesbian couples and u-hauls as soon as she hears that they’re moving in together. (Tbh, her and Sunniva took that step a month ago already). 
> 
> The title is from Cadmium by Pinegrove.
> 
> Lots of thanks to my dear [ Imminentinertia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imminentinertia/pseuds/imminentinertia) for betaing this and to [ MinilocIsland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minilocisland) for offering some much needed hand-holding while I was freaking out.


End file.
